Hope no one mind that I added to this story this week. Just had an urge to. That is the great thing about having so many stories rolling about in my head. When I’m uncertain what to do in other stories, sometimes clears up what I’m doing in other stories. As the title shows I’m not sure if this will be the fourth chapter or not, as I am jumping about a bit with this one to keep it light. Hope you enjoy and let me know what you think.
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CH ?04:Will’s Self Challenge
M/f,f,f Vore only
I take a deep breath. If I’m going to work for this place I need to be able to do this. I will need to have lunch at Little Nibbles Café. And I’ll have to eat everything on my plate. Or more my issue, everyone on that plate.
Little Nibbles Cafes have a unique menu. Every dish has one or more tiny people incorporated into them. Wrapped in noodles, draped across meat, clad in pastries these little people were part of the meal. One the guest could devour, and for many of them that was the attraction to these private restaurants. Or if they were inclined a guest could ask for a doggie cage and they could keep the tiny person as a pet. I have that urge. The want to keep them. Since I’ve only been served pretty young women. But I have to accept that these little people are mainly intended as food.
I am being a touch deceptive to myself. These tiny people are actually marvelous little clones. They have all the memories, hopes, and dreams of the person that they are a copy of. Including the want to not be eaten by some giant person. Though their bones are closer to hard cartilage than bones when they are served, they don’t know that and move and squirm just like they would if they were the real person they resemble. To make this more appealing Little Nibbles Cafes make their little bodies more to the guest’s physically ideal. In my case, more physically fit, like little fashion models. Making it even harder for me to eat them. As I rather touch them then digest them.
My friend Jim is a board member in this secret chain of restaurants and he wants me working as an Internal Accountant. I can’t do that with a clear conscience if I’m not willing to partake in the main purpose of the restaurant. Sure if I can get through this I will likely still doggie cage most of my morsels over eating them alive. But it will mean I accept the culinary death I’ll be helping to run smoothly.
I step into the plain gray door and look at the ornately carved wooden doors hidden from public view. I’m a member, thanks to Jim. Platinum member even as a friend of a board member. My nerves are just jumping. Like I’m about to have a lion jump at me. Yet I know I’m not in any danger. I just have to slip my membership card into the card slot and the door will click to allow me access. My arm reaches my hand out and the card slides in. An audible click and I open the door.
Jennifer, shit I forgot to call her. Why didn’t I call her, she’s gorgeous. “Hello Mr. Jackson, on your own today?” she says to me in a cheery tone.
“Yes,” I answered. Unnecessary I clarified, “I need to see if I can handle actually eating the little people that are part of my meal.”
She smiles as she corrects me, “Accents, they are accents of your meal.”
“Sorry, right Accents.” I accept my mistake.
She grabs a menu and advises, “Follow me. I’ll find you a private spot to test your plate. Still not comfortable with the idea of eating Accents?”
“No, I can’t quite get past the idea that they are little people. Might be my fault for taking so many home the other night.” I suggest.
She looks over her shoulder at me as she notes, “This might not help, but for some guests that idea is all the appeal.”
“Yeah, it was a rush when I first did it. But now that I have been thinking about it, I can’t shake the idea that when I ate those women. I ended their lives.” I explained.
“They have no lives but to be eaten or otherwise enjoyed. If you didn’t order your meal they wouldn’t be brought to life in the first place.” She says and that actually helps some.
“So, they only live to be eaten.” I reply as she points me into a small booth.
“Exactly, like chickens.” She says happily.
I had to explain why I hadn’t called her before she went back to her podium to lead the next guests to their table, “Look, I’m sorry I haven’t called. I just got out of a long term relationship. And I’m just a little out of practice with the whole dating thing.”
“I understand.” she replies before suggesting, “So to make it easy on you how about this. My friend is having an exhibit of their art on Thursday at a little independent gallery. I’ll be going to Galbraith’s for a light supper at about five thirty. If you happen to be at Galbraith’s about that time we could eat and go look at their paintings together. If your not ready yet, I understand.”
How was I this lucky? She was gorgeous. Maybe I’m so hesitant because she’s nearly half my age. But, she’s made the first move. It’s not like I’m a creepy old guy hitting on a girl barely old enough to vote. She gave me her number of her own accord. “I might need to look at some art come Thursday.” I tell her and she smiles warmly.
“A touch of advice for this experiment.” she replies pointing at the table and twirling her finger. “Order one of the sandwich combos and a drink. That’s only three Accents. Also, ask the waitress to select off your list. So they will not be familiar to you. Yet with your data they will still be able to get you Accents that are appealing to you. So it should be a little easier for you to handle. Worse comes to worse, you have three new pets to enjoy at home.”
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.” I replied. I didn’t know that was an option.
“Hope to see you Thursday.” Jennifer said before turning to walk back to her station. The view was certainly making dinner at Galbraith’s on Thursday sound like a better and better idea.
I sat and opened my menu. It didn’t help that the pictures of the meals showed them Accented. Half little men and half little women, likely to appeal to whichever preference the guest has. I skip the appetizers and I’m disturbed by the Tots Toss Salad. Then snicker at the Chick/Hunk Noodle soup. Yep, each meal was male-female labels with a helpful little note at the bottom of the menu that clarified that the mixing of Accents was an option. Well, at least they were inclusive in their cannibal cuisine.
A pretty young brunette came to my table and began filling my water glass. As she did she said, “Hello Mr. Jackson. I’m Tammy, your server. Are you ready to order or would you like a few more moments?”
I had to remember I was a platinum guest. That’s how she knew my last name and had to call me by it. Jim wanted me to have all the perks. “Not yet thank you Tammy. Could I have a shot of rum un-Accented? I’m still getting used to the concept of this Café.”
“Certainly Mr. Jackson.” She said with a little bow and went to the bar.
Some of the options I could understand how they worked. Added Accents on salads or bacon wrapped and draped over a steak. But the Breaded Chicks as a Burger or the Deep Fried Babe in Ice Cream just defied my imagination. How could they cook those with the little clone inside and not kill them?
I made it to the Lunch Fare part of the menu. Chick Club sandwich, Hottie and Cheese, Cucumber Cutie, Cold Cuts Cuties, each had two accents on a sandwich that was divided in two and made sense to me. But The Grilled Chick or the Meat Doll sandwich were both confusing. Both would require the Accent to be cooked as part of the sandwich wouldn’t they? Like the Bimbo melt literally has cheese melted over the Accent’s bodies restraining them to the bread.
I decide to just go simple and question how they are made later. A simple BLT and French fries. Yep, a Babes Lettuce and tomato. As described, two attractive Accents restrained in three strips of Bacon each laid a top garden fresh tomato and lettuce on freshly toasted artisan bread. Yeah, that should be manageable for me.
Tammy arrives and places the shoot before me. And before she can finish asking, “Would you like more time Mr. Jackson?” I have downed it to claim my agitated nerves.
“Yes, I’ll have a BLT with Accents not on my personal list and a cola to drink.” I state a little quickly.
She takes it in pride and smiles in amusement. Then clarifies, “Off list Accent for the cola as well?”
“Yes please.” I answer, trying to slow down. Then, I have a craving, “That couldn’t be a cherry cola could it?”
I’m surprised when she answers, “We can do that Mr. Jackson.”
“Thank you Tammy.” I say.
She asks, “Anything else Mr. Jackson?”
“No, I think just the sandwich and fries will be good.” I answer.
“Right away.” she says with a little bow and is away again.
She comes back shortly with the sandwich, fries, and my drink on a serving tray. The Sandwich has the top slice of bread leaning on the bottom of the sandwich. This is clearly so I can see the two attractive and shapely blondes laying in an unconscious state upon my sandwich. Bacon wrapped about their calves and thighs then another strip about her torso restraining their arms. Tammy taps my plate with that strange wand thing they use and the two beauties awaken. It takes them less than a second to assess their situation of being draped as filler of a sandwich half surrounded by French Fries with a giant looming above them. They begin rambling, in German I think. Oddly I think that’ll help me with this personal challenge. If I understood them they might have more of a chance.
Tammy then sets my Cherry Cola upon the table. Tall glass of dark liquid with a little ice floating at the top. On a very little plate is a straw with a red haired sexy shaped Accent restrained to it. On her head as a hat is one of those bar cherries sliced to stay fit over her head at an angle. Tammy taps that plate and this one is just as quick. Struggling hard against her restraints she too seems to be babbling in German. “Everything look good Mr. Jackson?” Tammy asks like this was a normal everyday thing.
“Yes.” I told her. Because I guess here, this is a normal everyday thing.
“Oh Good.” She replies. Then notes, “If anything is wrong just wave at me and I’ll be right over. Enjoy your meal.”
And she leaves me with three miniature terrified women among my food. I don’t know how to start. I look out into the dinning room and my gaze is greeted with a cascade of carnivore death. Tiny men being sucked back by a woman off oyster shells. A man slicing the leg off of a woman speared to his steak by his fork. Another man chomping down a burger as little hands stretch and grab at the air from under the bun. A woman dipping a breaded covered woman into some sauce face first, her plate says she likes to mix her accents.
I turn back. I remember Jennifer’s words, “They only are alive because you ordered the meal.” And, “Alive to be eaten.” I take a deep breath and center myself.
I look down. Both blondes are extremely attractive. I find myself thinking of Doggie Cage for home fun almost immediately. I wish Jim was here, his presence makes this easier. I slip the half a bread slice over one side of my sandwich. The now trapped woman screams and screams, likely wondering in her panic how she ended up on giant’s sandwich. Likely begging for me to show her mercy, to get her back home. Not knowing she wasn’t who she thought she was. I lift the top of the sandwich towards my open mouth, head first should end her torture sooner.
My teeth crush through bread, lettuce, tomato, and take her screaming head clean off. I chew, the bacon flavor is delicious. That had to be her as the little of the slice I got with that bite would account for all that flavor. Her sandwich partner screams in terror and I understand why this is a enjoyable experience for the other guests. There is a rush in knowing you can eat a tiny person alive and they can’t stop you. I feel it as I take another bite. But I also feel a touch guilty, I could have saved her.
But, to what end? How many tiny women do I want at home to look after? Sure Jim bought me a huge cage so I could keep many more then I already have. But that would also mean looking after getting them food and other perversions. I tear another part of the sandwich off with my teeth, I’m already halfway through the first Accent’s body. I slide the bread over the other side of the sandwich to muffle that one’s screams a little.
I grab the straw and that one whimpers in a language I don’t know. I slip her into the cherry cola and she’s neck deep. I lift the glass and lower the level a little. The shapely redhead is shivering before I place the glass down. I take another chomp and grab a fry to munch on. This, this wasn’t bad. The sandwich was delicious all things considered. Fries cooked to a perfect crispy outer edge. And the cherry cola was not too sweet. They did know how to make good food here.
I toss the last of the first half sandwich into my mouth and take another sip of cola. Tammy arrived as I’m chewing. How they always do this to me I never know. “How is everything Mr. Jackson?”
I swallow and take another sip. “Good thank you.” I managed to get out.
“Not so bad once you start? The eating of an Accent I mean?” She inquires.
“No, rather tasty actually. Are they, well, do they flavor the Accents?” I ask.
“Depending on the meal, yes. Yours would have a smoked flavoring added to their mix to give them a richer bacon taste. If your planning on keeping the other one you’ll find that flavoring will fade over a week or so.” She explained politely.
“Interesting. Kind of a rush, eating a living little person.” I admit.
Tammy smirks and advises, “You want a real rush, eat the next one feet first.”
“I’ll try.” I say trying to convince myself.
“I’ll be back soon Mr. Jackson to see if you need a refill or want something after your lunch.” Tammy informs me.
“Thanks Tammy.” I acknowledge as I lift the second half of the sandwich.
I look at my sandwich. The tiny woman inside is looking out helplessly, clearly begging in her language. I decide to take Tammy’s advice and turn the sandwich around. I bring the side between my teeth. My mouth tears those in incisors through the bread and veggies. I can feel the tiny woman squirming for her life trapped between the slices. To no avail as my next bite severs her legs just below her knees. She screams in agony and I feel a strange delight I know I’ll question later. I destroyed her lower legs in my mouth and swallowed them down.
I take another sip before I go for her thighs. Meaty and firm are the last of her lower limbs. Now I have a new question as I chew, why isn’t she gushing blood all over my plate? Her screaming is gone and now just helpless whimpers escape my sandwich. I rend into the sandwich and take off her fine little ass. Her bacon flavor is delectable. Mixing with the fresh tomato wonderfully. All her sounds end with the next bite. Likely I took her heart and lungs with my eager chomp. She’s still delicious. I ate the last of the sandwich noting Tammy was right, that was a cruel power rush.
I nibble my fries as I reveal more of my drink’s Accent’s fabulous body with each little sip. This was easy once I began, I don’t know what I had myself all worked up about. Tammy happily comes back, “Well Mr. Jackson, did you enjoy your meal?”
“Yes thank you.” I answer.
“Dessert?” She suggests.
“Not today.” I decide.
She leans in close and suggests, “If you eat your drink Accent, you should swallow her whole. You’ll feel her struggle all the way to your stomach.”
“I did that last time. It was a touch hard on my throat.” I point out.
“Once you get used to doing it, you’ll enjoy swallowing at least one Accent whole per visit.” She tempts me to try.
I pull the straw out of the cola. I look at the restraints about the Accent’s wrists and it’s just a twisted strip of paper. Ankles too, she is so helpless she couldn’t tear cola soaked straw paper. I, however, do it easily. She yelps in pain as I forcefully free her.
She is pleading away in the foreign language as I raise her head first to my open mouth. Tammy is there watching eagerly, likely wanting to be encouraging. The Redhead Accent’s skin is cold on my tongue from soaking in the ice chilled cola for so long. She slips smoothly over my tongue, I can hear her screaming in terror from within my mouth.
I feel her head and shoulders touch the back of my throat and tilt my head back to straighten the path. As I swallow hard I suck her shapely legs between my lips. Her little torso slips down my esophagus. I enjoy those long legs dancing their last dance along my lips. Kicking frantically along my tongue. And tickling my Uvula with her toes as they are pulled down into the darkness inside my torso. As empowering as that was, still rough on my throat.
Tammy is right however. I feel that shapely body struggling against the downward pull of my esophagus. Wiggling and kicking every compact inch. Then the pressure of her mass escapes my chest into my stomach. I think I feel her flopping about among the pieces of the devoured sandwich and chewed fries. Likely splashing in the now belly heated soda she was just recently soaking in cold.
“See, feel like some powerful other worldly being don’t you.” Tammy asks self assuredly.
I clear my throat and take a sip of cola before I point out, “Still hard on my throat.”
“It’ll get easier, I promise.” She assures me.
“I’ll try to remember that. Not to rush you, but could I have my bill?” I ask while grabbing a fry to munch.
“Oh, Ms. Lewis picked that up for you.” Tammy informs me.
Now I have a new question, “Ms. Lewis?”
“Yes. You know, from the board of owners.” Tammy states like the whole board was known to everyone once they entered the Café. Then seeing my confusion she realizes aloud, “Oh you never meet Ms. Lewis?”
“No, I have no idea who she is. Is she still here?” I should at least thank her. Meals, even the cheaper ones, were pricey here.
“No, she left shortly after you ordered. She just asked that your meal be placed on her tab. I thought maybe you were friends.” Tammy explained. Then cheekily asked, “Would you like dessert now?”
“No, I shouldn’t push her hospitality.” I say, but I have a feeling from my first visit there are power dynamics challenges among the board and don’t want to put Jim in anyone’s debt.
“OK, well take your time with your fries and if you change your mind let me know.” Tammy offers.
“I will.” I say. Now I have to worry when I come here to eat that I could be used against Jim in some way. I’ll need him to explain who this Ms. Lewis is and what and who I should avoid. He said I would be a help for him if I take the job he offered me. Well, then I should take it to help my friend.
I finish and start back to my current job. I call Jim, “Hello buddy.” he answers happily.
“Hey, about that job you offered. Would me being there really help you out?” I go straight to the point.
“Indubitably.” he replied.
“OK, to help you out I’ll take it.” I informed him.
“Yeah, just to help me out. Like the more pay and better health benefits weren’t an incentive.” He teases back.
“I had lunch at the Café today.” I told him.
“Oh, was everything good? Added to your collection?” He asks cheerfully.
“Yeah, all good. Actually I ate all the Accents this time.” I start.
“Oh cool, good for you.” He says clearly wanting to encourage me out of my comfort zone.
“Yeah, one thing though. A Ms. Lewis paid for my meal.” I informed him.
His tone is attempting to stay cheery but I can hear him questioning her motives, “Carol, really.”
“Yeah, is that OK? Is that something I should avoid?” I let him know I was aware of the possible power struggle.
“No, that’s” he started, but paused enough before saying, “Fine.” To make me worry.
“Well if there are any problems let me know.” I told him.
“Will do.” He lied, he’s worried about something.
“Got to go, guess I have to get back to work and give my notice.” I said to him.
He suggests, “Hey we should get together and celebrate you joining the chain.”
“Sure, I’ll call you. Talk to you later.” I say.
“Yep, talk to you soon.” He replied. Before I hang up. I guess I’m stepping into the secret tiny human serving Café business. Not something I had ever considered till recently. Hope I don’t end up on the menu.
